Come Home
by pageofspace
Summary: In which Bro had an somewhat exciting high school life which inspired Dave to take action without thinking about the consequences. Also, Bro being a badass guardian. No pairing. Written in second-person. Prompt: Always Gold by Radical Face.
1. Chapter 1

_And I was there, when you grew restless,  
Left in the dead of night.  
And I was there, when three months later,  
You were standing in the door all beat and tired,  
And I stepped aside._

The morning starts out as usual. Open your eyes, roll off the futon in the living room, saunter into the kitchen. Take the apple juice out of the fridge, set it on the kitchen island for Dave. Start pouring some pancake batter into a pan. Wait a minute. Flip the pancake. Rub the fuck out of your eyes which are constantly under your ironic shades. Goddamn you were tired.

Dave should be here any second. He'll be doing the same, except he's coming from his room and not from the couch. Your little man, all grown up and thirteen now. Shit, was he really thirteen? It's been thirteen years since he showed up. You've given your all to the little dude. You were going places. College, maybe even a wife or some shit. None of that matters now, though. You're glad things turned out the way they did.

The two of you are practically attached at the hip. You taught him how to strife, you homeschooled him most of the time- ain't no way you were going to let some fucked up establishment ruin him five days a week, maybe two was okay because the kid needed a social life, you know? Can't let him sit in his room all day. You even let him take up rapping and laying down some sick tracks. He's always looked up to you, and you know that. Shit, you don't know what you'd do without him. All those dreams you had once upon a lifetime don't mean jack.

And then Dave stumbles in. "Am I going to school today, Bro?" His voice is tired, still lagging.

"Did you spike your apple juice again?" you reply. You let him drink. As long as he's at home, he can do whatever he wants. He's getting smarter about drinking, but he still winds up with a headache a lot of the time. It's still better than what it could be. You can't help but think about an old friend from another life.

"Yeah," Dave sighs. His voice pulls you back to the present.

"Naw, lil' man. You stay here and rest up. I've got some flapjacks coming your way."

You can almost hear him smile as he pulls a barstool up to the island. He sees the bottle and jumps down from his chair to get a glass. He's not tired anymore. He's too excited.

Thirty seconds flat and he poured himself a glass and drank the thing, too. You're proud. You stop flipping pancakes and slide the fourth or fifth one into a plate by the stove. You go to the cupboard and throw Dave a plate and utensils. "Nice catch, lil' man." It's taken him a while to get that one down. You guess catching swords helped a bit.

He shovels some pancakes into his plate and drowns them with syrup. Good kid, you think. You are nothing but proud of him. You make a couple more pancakes and stack 'em three high on your plate before setting it on the counter on the island. You swipe the syrup from Dave's side of the island and pour it on your plate before inhaling the pancakes. As Dave's helping himself to seconds, you make yourself a cup of coffee.

He speaks up when he sits back down. "Bro, what's New York like?"

You smile. "New York..." you begin. "I've been there once. You remember Smitty, yeah?"

Dave nods. He's always interested in stories involving your friends.

"He asked me if I wanted to go on vacation with him when I was in my senior year of high school. I said yeah, why not, and we left the next day. It was a two day trip, and we didn't sleep at all on the ride. We might've been too excited, or the ride might've been too bumpy, but we crashed for an entire day when we got to the hotel. After that, we hit up Times Square. We were gonna paint the town, let 'em know we're here, but we just kind of... moseyed around. It was too nice-lookin'. Smitty wanted to put up some street art, and he brought a backpack full of spray paint, too. I stopped him, though. We could do that back home. So we wandered. And we did that for days. Then Christmas happened.

"Let me tell you, Christmas in Times Square is one of the most magical-looking things in the world. You see, there's this white stuff that comes down from the sky like rain, and they call it snow up there. I've maybe seen it one or two other times in my life down here. Shit's rare as fuck in Texas. But it stuck to all the trees and buildings and roads, and one day when we went out, there were no cars and almost no people on account of all the snow.

"We stayed up all night and we drank to the Christmas spirit. We had just enough money to eat and buy booze for the week and a half we were there, so we didn't worry about Christmas presents too much. The next few days were a blur, but we visited Central Park and shit, and it was cool. More snow, metric fucktons of the stuff. Then we rode home and winter break was over. Back to high school."

You look at Dave after you finish the story. He's enthralled.

"I want to go to New York sometime, Bro."

"I'd love to go again, too, lil' man. We'll see how it goes."

He sighed and shoved off, back to his room. You're both constantly busy. New York seems like a distant dream for now. After all, you've got to get him all educated and shit. You should probably get on that sometime today, but your site needs maintenance and that'll eat up a good few hours of time. Last night was coding night, and you've got to put up some new content, so there goes your day. You'll send Dave out for grocery shopping.


	2. Chapter 2

Three PM rolls around and you're almost done with maintenance. You've got to hit the gym at some point today, and now seems a good a time as any for the both of you to get your shit done. School's out so it won't look suspicious for Dave to be in the supermarket, but it's not like you care, he's your kid, and not anyone else's. His music's been going all day. Lil' dude must've been busy.

You knock on his door after leaving the site to finish up its maintenance. "Dave, you in there?"

He cracks the door open. "Yeah."

"I need you to go to the store. I'm taking the car to the gym. You know which card to use for groceries, yeah?" you ask him.

He nods. "The silver and orange one for three percent cash back."

"Good kid." You ruffle his hair and walk away. He'll leave after you do.

You go to your room and shove the door open. Goddamn smuppets, taking up so much space. You should probably invest in some sort of IKEA cabinet for all of them. You nod at Lil' Cal, sitting on some chair like the guardian of your hoard. Damn good guardian, too.

You throw your closet doors open and pull a shirt from one of the shelves. You pull off your white polo and swap it for the new shirt. You slip out of your Chucks and whip off your pants, switching them for a pair of black basketball shorts. You put your trusty Chuck Taylors back on and grab your keys and a water before heading out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Time at the gym always passes quicker than you expect. It's one of the only times you take your shades and had off. Don't want to ruin the merch. Your friend Casey's busy today, so he can't spot you for squats and bench pressing. You work the biceps and triceps, run a little bit, and sit in the sauna for a good while. Things have been tense lately, for you and for Dave. Any trouble he gets at school is your problem, too. Ain't nobody gonna fuck with your brother, and ain't nobody gonna fuck with you. It's not like anyone's beating him up, though, which is good for the aggrieving party..

Some kid tried that once. But Dave knows how to strife and has known since he could walk. That kid walked away with a broken collarbone and fractured wrist, and Dave wasn't even that good then. He didn't have his sword, either. That kid also moved out of state two weeks later.

Still, you've got to go through the typical parental measures with Dave's formal schooling. Parent-teacher conferences where all the young women practically just out of college flirt with you, meetings with the principal where the fuckass they call the head of school tells you you're raising your kid wrong, and more meetings with teachers because Dave doesn't come to class regularly and it's important for him to know algebra. you already know he's not gonna need that shit. One of Dave's online friends could probably teach him if he had the desire.

Dave's been in some trouble for missing too many classes lately, and that's the big thing. They think you're not a caring guardian, that he stays home a lot to hide bruises and other signs of abuse. When you did nothing, they brought it to the principal and eventually the head of the school district.

Dave had to be there, too. That was one hell of a meeting. You went in and they sat the both of you down. They explained the signs of domestic abuse and the both of you laughed. You really tried not to laugh, you told them. Stood up, took off your shades, and put a hand on his desk. To this day, it's the only time Dave has seen you without them. Dave knew shit was going down right then.

"You listen here and you listen good, sir. I do not and have never abused my little brother. It's true that I keep him home, but it's because some of these kids in middle school are vicious. Middle schoolers pick on adults for fun, and the adults feel victimized. Can you imagine what would happen to Dave if he was in school all the time? He'd develop suicidal tendencies. And I understand that I am his guardian and I am supposed to combat those with him, but what good will it do if he's with the people who make him want to take his own life seven hours a day, five days a week? And on top of that, he's expected to excel in his schoolwork? Sir, if anything, I am looking out for his mental health, and if this is what you're accusing me of, then by all means, continue. It means I am doing something right."

The head of the school district tried to object, and brought up that one time he got into a fight.

"So I teach the kid self defense. He has never attacked anyone, has he? Despite what that record shows, my brother has never, _ever_ used his skills in self-defense to initiate an attack on another student or person whatsoever. and if you can't see that he was retaliating for being physically harassed and bullied, I'm not so sure a school is the best place for anyone, because if this is what you do to someone who does speak up for themselves, then what do you do for those who have no voice?"

You put your shades back on and sat back down. Dave held up his fist, and you waved him away. For the moment, at least.

The head of the school district was speechless for a few minutes. He was trying to take all this in. He didn't know what to say, and he didn't know you'd have opinions. Most parents don't, since the few that they catch abusing their kids actually do. It took awhile for him to process everything. After fifteen minutes of him muttering to himself and considering all the sides of your argument, he typed you up a letter which basically warned the school district about you. He showed it to you and you read it over, then let Dave read it, proving that you don't withhold anything from him, that he's educated in the dealings of adults. He smiles and hands the letter back.

"Forward the document to everyone in this school district, sir," you demand.

He doesn't hesitate, and shows you the sent email as confirmation. You smile, thank him for his time, then leave. Dave follows without a question. Once the two of you are sitting in the truck, you hold up your fist. Dave smiles and fist bumps you as you drive out of the parking lot, radio blaring.

That was a good day, as you remember. It was maybe when Dave was in sixth grade, when all those bitches were learning that they could be manipulative. Elementary school was fine, and you sent Dave there every day to build up his education, because how the fuck are you going to teach him the alphabet and how to read and colors and all that without getting frustrated and storming away.

When Dave got into middle school, you tried the five-days-a-week thing. He came home more and more depressed each day. He got in lots of trouble. You got real acquainted with the staff. So you sent him to school less and less. He got happier, and so did you, seeing him happy.

You look over at the clock on the wall and realize you've been in the sauna for an hour or so. You sigh and figure you should get back home at some point. You get up and walk out in a cascade of steam, then make your way to the locker room and towel off.

You leave the gym after getting dressed and hop in the truck. You put the windows down and turn the radio up, shamelessly singing along to whatever comes up on your iPod.


	4. Chapter 4

It's around six when you get back. Dave's home, you think as you check the cupboards. Fully stocked with all the junk food the two of you can imagine. Twinkies, Cheetos, Pop-Tarts, and Little Debbie brownies for days. Of course he stocked up on all the basics, too. Rice, cheeses, vegetables, meat, and other stuff so you can cook dinner for the next few days.

You look in the box on top of the fridge to make sure Dave put the credit card back this time. He forgets a lot, and it's no big deal, just as long as it gets put back within the same day. You open the box and it's the green card on top, the big purchases card. You slide the gas card out of your wallet and put it in the box before you forget, then walk to Dave's room and knock on the door.

"Hey, Dave? Do you have the grocery card?" you call through the door.

No reply.

You knock again. "Dave? You in there, bud?"

Nothing.

He's probably in the bathroom or some shit, so you decide to wait it out and watch TV. You flop down onto the couch and flip through channels until you find something mildly interesting. It ends up being Pawn Stars.

You watch two episodes before going to check on Dave's room again. You knock and call through the door again. "Lil' man, you there?"

You're starting to worry. He usually hears you knocking through whatever music he's playing. You knock once again, more violently this time. "Dave!"

"Shit," you mutter. You turn the doorknob and open the door. It's miraculously clean. Too clean. You check his bathroom without a second though, thinking he might've gotten stuck somehow or even...

You force that thought from your mind as you enter the bathroom. Pristinely clean, like his room.

And then, you notice the memo on his computer, pinging at you through that messaging client Dave and his friends like to use.

* * *

turntechGodhead [TG] THREE HOURS AGO opened memo on board HEY BRO

TG: bro, if you see this then i guess you found out before i called

TG: i'm actually on a bus to new york right now.

TG: be back in a few.

* * *

Oh shit.

The sword pierces your heart, so to speak. Dave is not here. Dave is gone. Dave. Is. Not. Here. You sit on the ground for a while, trying to breathe. It's like the kid fucking died or committed suicide or something. He'd up and left without telling you, without any clues aside from that stupid memo.

He'd up and gone to New York because of your stories. What fucking month is it? January? God damn it, he'd gone to see the snow. He'd gone to see the lights and Times Square and Central Park and he has a credit card. It's not like you to worry about him because he can take care of himself but dammit he might as well be on the moon by now.

You could take the truck and go to the bus stop, figure out which one he took, and intercept that fucker at the next stop. You could make it, you drive like a stunt driver does. If you don't stop and figure that they're maybe two hours ahead of you since he had to walk to the bus stop and wait for the bus then you might make it before they cross the Mississippi. But you guess you'd wait for his call.

Lo and behold, there it is. Your phone vibrates in your pocket for a moment before you pick it up. You take it out and look at the screen. It's from a payphone. It's undoubtedly Dave. You answer the call.

"Hey, Bro," he says.

You are seething. "David Gregory Strider, what were you thinking?" You try to keep somewhat calm.

"I wanted to see the snow and the lights and Times Square."

"Damn... I knew it."

There's silence. "You did?"

"I figured you'd do something extreme. You haven't wanted anything that much since I can remember." This is it, you guess. Give him a few days.

"So that's it?"

"Yeah. Come back in a week, lil' man. Call me when you want to be picked up."

You hang up. He'll be alright. Three days in the city, four for travel. He'll be fine, but the real question is if you'll be able to hold up until then.

You've said it before and you'll say it again. Taking care of Dave is your life. And for a week, you've got no life. You figure you'll call a friend or something or maybe just sleep it off, hoping it's a bad dream.

You drag your feet across the apartment to your room. Leave the TV on so it feels less lonely in this goddamn place. Strip down your clothes and shower, maybe it'll clear your head. You can't figure out why you didn't shower after you got home from the gym. Something, you think, has been amiss all day. And you, the great Bro Strider, were oblivious to it the whole fucking time.

You stay in the shower for at least forty-five minutes, washing and rewashing your hair and body. Your fingers begin to prune, but you ignore it and repeat the cycle another ten times before finally stepping out into the room full of steam. You left the door open, so your room's pretty humid, too.

You wrap a towel around your waist and trudge out to the living room because pants are for losers. You forget your hair's still dripping and whip off your towel to dry your hair a little before you put it back on. You let your room air out and walk over to the counter, where you left your phone.

You unlock the screen and figure you might as well call Casey. You dial the numbers and wait anxiously for him to pick up. God, you hate being alone. You turn down the TV.

"Hello?"

"Case?"

"What's up, Bro?" he asks. "You sound bummed."

"Dave's on his way to New York," you say flatly.

"For, like, a school trip?" Casey's confused, just about as confused as you.

"Yeah, something like that," you say. He doesn't need to know the details, even if he is your best friend. You think about it for a minute before beginning to say something.

"I'm coming over. You don't sound alright." Casey hangs up.

You lower the phone from your ear and figure you might as well get dressed. You toss your phone on the couch and switch the TV's input to some quality jams before walking back to your room.

Goddamn, you need to clean in here. Maybe it's just that Dave's gone, but you've never really seen it as messy. Or maybe it's because Dave's room is clean.

Either way, you pull your usual outfit out of the closet and throw it on. You don't bother about the shoes, hat, or shades. Casey's the only one who's seen you without them more than a handful of times, and you've stopped giving a shit.


	5. Chapter 5

Before long the doorbell rings. You walk over and open the door. Casey's there, looking worried. You don't look too good yourself, apparently, because he hugs you before saying a word. You're startled, to say the least- Case doesn't do hugs- but you return the favor.

"Thanks for coming over, man," you say.

"Dave ran away, didn't he?" Casey asks. "You wouldn't be bummed about a school trip. I'm not even sure you'd let him go."

You nod and pull away. "Yeah, Dave's not here."

"You go to the gym already?" he asks, changing the subject.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. I was there for a good three hours, I think. I dunno. I lost track of time."

"I can see that."

You step aside so he can come in. You both go sit down on the couch, watching the slideshow of wallpapers from the media computer on the TV. You sit for a while, and then offer him coffee or something stronger.

He shakes his head. "Don't even think about drinking tonight, Bro."

"What?"

"Don't do it. You'll get suicidal. I've seen it happen."

You sigh and sink into the couch some more. "I don't want to do anything. I just want to disappear."

"You miss him that much already?"

The sword's back in your heart. You can't breathe again, and Casey nods.

"I understand. You want to come back to my place for the week or something?"

You decline politely. "I just want to clean the apartment."

"Oh." Casey gets up. "You want me to stay?"

"Yes."

He sits in the Lay-Z-Boy recliner closer to the TV. "Talk to me. Actually, tell me about that time they called you in 'cause they thought you were abusing the kid."

You perk up a bit. That's one of your finer moments. You tell him the story in great detail, standing up and beginning to pick up the living room as you go. You finish cleaning before you finish the story, so you move into your room and put a dent in the mess there. Casey follows, ever intrigued.

You finish and realize that you were cleaning while telling him the story. "Sorry, man..." you begin.

"No, keep going. I don't mind." Casey smiles.

You tell him another story about Dave. About the time he whooped that kid's ass. About the time he learned to break open baby locks. About how he got obsessed with hide and seek when he was five. And the time he wanted a set of turntables so badly that he wouldn't let it go and eventually you caved and bought them for his birthday. And about how he started that comic because he saw how well you were doing with your website. Thinking back on that one, you realize now that puppet porn wasn't exactly the best thing to show a twelve-year-old.

As you finish the last story, your room begins to have a carpeted floor instead of a sea of smuppets. "Case, it's your turn."

He laughs and follows you around, telling you stories about him and his girlfriend and how he's planning on marrying her someday. He says something about you being a dad and how he didn't want to believe it at first because the two of you were only nineteen when Dave came along. And he told you about how even in his circle of friends that you don't know, they were proud of you and can't believe that a kid like Dave could come from a parent like you and that you'd done good.

And when you'd finished cleaning Casey offered to make you dinner back at his place. you declined and suggested the two of you go out to eat instead. He seemed to like your idea better.


	6. Chapter 6

You stumble in through the door after two AM, Casey and some other friends in tow. You went clubbing after dinner, and you enjoyed it a little more than you thought you would. Everyone wanders into the living room, some stumbling and some falling over due to different levels of drunkenness. You yourself are sober as ever.

Some of your friends are shouting for movies, and others are shouting for some retro games. You decide that playing Mario Kart would be better for this crowd, and set up the old GameCube before revealing your choice. Some people would rather spectate, which is fine, but you're sitting gun at player one's spot. Casey thinks he can take you down on Rainbow Road, and you laugh then start the race. You lap him twice, finishing first. He comes in second, and the other two places are just barely filled by your friends Bruce and Joey.

The shenanigans continue until everyone dozes off in the living room. You decide to leave them be and sleep in your room. You sleep peacefully, too, much to your surprise.

You wake up early, earlier than everyone else. Which means eleven AM. You make scrambled eggs and bacon, figuring almost everyone would have a massive hangover and bacon's a good cure for that. You serve them breakfast fit for a famous chef, then peek into Dave's room to confirm your suspicions that he's actually gone.

—-

You decide the best way to spend the week is to catch up with old friends, and that's exactly what you do. Every night, you see at least one of them, and they're all telling you how they admire you 'cause you've got your priorities straight.

The last night, though, you spend by yourself. You drive out to the middle of nowhere and lie down in the bed of the truck, just staring at the stars. It's pleasant, to say the least. You fall asleep in the warm Texas air and wake up to seven missed calls, thirty-six texts, and two Facebook notifications, not to mention an assload of tweets. You head back to the apartment and take care of each one of them. Most of them asked where you were last night, or thanked you for the great time at the apartment, and that you throw the best parties and all that.

You clean the apartment again and wait for Dave's call by updating your site. You've taken the week quite well, you think, without Dave, and you feel a bit like Beyonce because everyone loves you and looks up to you in a motherly sort of way. Which is weird, but hey, at least you're respected by your friends. And they like you. A lot.

You're about to take a shower and head off to bed when the doorbell rings. There's been no call from Dave at all today, so you're disheartened.

You bound to the door and open it. Someone jumps you, hugging your waist. Dave.

"Welcome home, lil' man."

You fix him dinner after he lets you go so he can change into his pajamas. He missed you, too, you can see. You ruffle his hair after he's done eating and clean up his spot for him. He walks to the couch and sits down, nestling into its folds. He missed his home, too.

You go sit next to him and put your arm around his shoulders. "So, tell me about it, champ."

"It was amazing, Bro!" he says. "I can see why you loved it so much. The snow was so pretty and the lights were amazing. The people were really rude but other than that I'd want to go back and maybe even live there."

You laugh. "Maybe someday, Dave. Maybe someday."

He smiles and leans on your chest. "What did you do? Aside from cleaning. You did a good job on that, by the way."

"Oh, you know. Saw some friends, worked out... the usual."

Dave smiles. "I saw your Facebook. You're lying."

"Oh?" you ask. "How's that?"

"You did everything! We can do that together."

"Yeah, but you're my main priority. I can't just bring you into all these situations. Maybe when you're a little older. All my friends know you, though. You've got to give me that." You smile and take off your shades and hat. "But I guess we can all hang for some video games again real soon."

Before Dave says anything, you answer his question. "Of course you can."

Dave holds up his fist. You fist bump him and slouch down, getting comfortable. You pop in his favorite movie and before you know it, he's out like a light. You carry him to bed and tuck him in, something you haven't done in maybe eight years. It's good to have him back. You turn off his monitor and close his blinds so he sleeps alright. Maybe the two of you will take a road trip this summer. Down Route 66 all the way to California. You begin to plan the road trip and then realize you're still in Dave's room. He stirs a bit before you leave.

"'Night, little bro," you say, closing his door. He's home to stay.


End file.
